


made a shrine of every mess

by trite



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Additional Warnings in Author’s Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Proximity Bonds, Something Made Them Do It, Unreliable Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trite/pseuds/trite
Summary: Hux tries to say it in his head just to put into perspective how absurd the whole thing is.It’s torturous to live without Poe Dameron’s touch.It is, appropriately, painfully true.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	made a shrine of every mess

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags. Detailed content notes in endnotes.
> 
> Technically pre TROS, somewhat AU after TLJ. 
> 
> Thanks to [Sola](https://archiveofourown.org/users/partialresonance) for her invaluable feedback. ♥

Dameron steps back and away from the table currently propping Hux up. He sounds horrified when he says, “are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Hux has had worse. Sex has never been exactly a pleasant activity. It’s always been about proving something. Sometimes Hux didn’t know what he was trying to prove and got the wrong thing. It’s fine. It’s been a long time since he was reckless enough to engage in this sort of activity, though.

Hux lifts his gaze and it lands on the chrono in the opposite wall, its green numbers flashing back at him. Hux saw it when he entered the room but he doesn’t remember the time it had shown, so it’s no help in figuring out how much time it has passed.

The room is cold, almost freezing. It’s a jarring contrast to the way it felt just a few minutes ago, with Dameron draped over his back, his warm breath brushing his skin. _Body heat_ , Hux thinks. It was Dameron’s body heat keeping him warm.

He goes to pull his pants from where they’re pooling around his feet and winces when he bends down. He can handle pain worse than this, but every sensation feels unexpected, unpredictable. He can’t prepare and grit his teeth against something he didn’t see coming in the first place.

“I’m so sorry,” Dameron says, nervously carding his fingers through his hair. There’s something almost hypnotizing about his panicky movements. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t—I’m sorry, you don’t care to hear me make excuses for myself.”

He sits down heavily on the bed, his face buried in his hands, breathing shakily. It’s not his fault. Hux knows this because he felt it too. They’re only a few steps apart but the distance feels almost bigger than the room they’re currently in.

Hux flexes his fingers. His hands ache from keeping them locked in the same position for (what felt, at least like) a very long time. He looks at the table he was gripping and almost expects to find his imprint there. He felt outside his body; his grip on the durasteel and Dameron’s cock inside him the only things keeping him from disappearing entirely. That part, at least, had felt good.

He feels disgusting pulling his clothes back on when he can feel the evidence of what they did on his skin, more than just surface-deep. He can’t remain in this room with Dameron and his suffocating guilt enveloping him, though.

“You’re leaving?”

“Do you intend to keep me here for a second round?” His words have the desired effect and Dameron immediately winces and looks miserable.

Hux waits for the satisfaction to come but for some reason, it’s delayed.

“I didn’t know what I was—” Dameron starts, but loses steam at the end and whispers, “doing.”

He must hear how pathetic it sounds. As far as excuses go, Hux has heard better. Dameron could, for example, point out that Hux was begging, literally _begging him_ to do it. Not with his actions or his movements either. Does he not remember?

“That’s a handy excuse. Do you use that often?” Hux says and turns toward the door, but not before catching the wounded, agonized expression on Dameron’s face. Hux doesn’t care.

He tries to put it out of his mind once he’s back on the _Steadfast_. It wouldn’t do to think about it with mindreaders lurking around. He has no use for those memories, anyway. He allowed himself to replay the encounter in his head from start to finish on the way back, but disappointingly enough, found pieces were missing from his memory. Did Dameron remove his tunic? He couldn’t have. He remembers Dameron fumbling with the fastenings and giving up, before turning him back around against the table. Hux must’ve done that, then. He almost wants to compare their versions of events. It’s the only way he’ll get a full picture.

He spends the next cycle standing in all meetings. He hurts too much to sit for hours on end, but it probably comes across as a pathetic power move, nothing but posturing.

When he retires to his quarters, he takes a moment to examine his reflection in the mirror. He looks like he was mauled by a savage beast. He’s got bruises on his forearms, on his hips, on his wrists, scratches on his chest. He gets a sudden image, too vivid to be anything but real, of pressing Dameron’s hand against the bruises on his neck. Holding his hand there and squeezing. It had felt good. He turns off the light, not wanting to deal with his reflection anymore.

Three cycles later, his hands start shaking. It’s not unusual. He forgets to eat sometimes, he drinks too much caf, he doesn’t get enough sleep and when he sleeps, the images his mind conjures leave him feeling uneasy.

By the time his shift ends, he can barely hold his datapad in his hands.

He can’t report himself sick and can’t take a trip to medical. He’s got too many bruises on his body that he’s unwilling to have on record. He spends the next two cycles struggling to hold his composure, his focus, his barriers. When he retires for the day, he collapses on the floor of his rooms, every nerve ending on his body hurting.

It’s pain unlike any he has ever felt before. He just needs to get used to it, he reasons. The injuries that he got from the Force – from Ren – used to hurt unbearably, as well. Now they mostly hurt his pride. He’s taken away their power and he needs to do the same with whatever this is.

Whatever amount of pain he felt doesn’t compare to the humiliation of collapsing on the bridge in front of Pryde and his lackeys, which is exactly what happens two cycles later.

He wakes up in the medbay, his head feeling fuzzy. _I’ve been drugged_ , Hux thinks, trying to focus on anything, anything at all.

“General." Hux hears the next time he opens his eyes. He has no idea how long he's been here.

“ _General_.” It’s Allegiant General Pryde, of course. Fake concern dripping from his words. “Good to see you’ve decided to rejoin us. We were beginning to worry.”

Hux swallows, his anger mainly. “Thank you. I’m alright now.” It’s not a complete lie, but it can probably be attributed to whatever drugs are currently in his system.

“Oh, we don’t think so. Per my recommendation, the Supreme Leader has agreed that it would be best to remove you from your duties. At least temporarily. Don’t worry, we don’t expect to have any difficulty finding someone to replace you.”

“Temporarily.”

“Of course. Again, don’t worry. You won’t be missed.”

At that moment he desperately wishes for the agonizing pain that overpowered his body to come back. It would feel better than this.

It’s a good thing, Hux tells himself. They still don’t suspect him, so he can come back from this. Nothing has been irreparably damaged. He’ll take some more sedatives and he’ll take leave. This is an opportunity.

He contacts Dameron and sends him a set of coordinates. He forgot to make arrangements so that they don’t have to meet face to face anymore. It’s dangerous to do it like that, anyway. He’ll set something up for next time.

_I can’t_ , reads the message after Hux has decoded it. _Someone else will meet you_. Hux swallows, his throat closing up. This was not part of their arrangement. He’s not going to pass Hux along to some other idiot, because his feelings were hurt. Sure, dealing with Dameron is infuriating, but Hux is used to him.

 _No. If you can’t make the meet, there is no meet,_ Hux sends, his hands shaking. He leans back on his bed and looks up at the ceiling, the single light above his bed the only thing keeping the room from being completely bathed in darkness. It’s possible he shouldn’t have pushed Dameron like he did last time, he thinks.

When Hux reads his next message, he realizes it’s worse than he expected.

_Literally can’t. I’m sick._

He thinks he can guess how, exactly, Dameron is sick. _I’ll go to you,_ he sends, not caring how desperate it sounds. He’s not desperate for _Dameron_. At least, not this time, he reminds himself.

_I’m stupid, but I’m not an idiot. Did you expect that line to work?_

Hux groans. _I know what’s wrong with you and how to fix it._ The last part might be a lie, but Hux is confident he can figure it out.

Dameron plasters himself against him and sighs with relief when Hux enters his ship. Hux is not wearing his uniform so Dameron has no trouble unbuttoning his shirt and placing his hands directly against Hux’s skin. The way Dameron’s touch drives the pain away and replaces it with warmth feels good. It’s not the only way it feels good, though.

Hux waits for him to do something more, but he seems content to just lean against Hux and rub his hands in a soothing motion over his stomach.

Hux is hard. The feeling of Dameron’s blaster — his actual blaster — digging against his thigh, making him harder. Hux moves his hands to Dameron’s belt but he stops him.

“We’re not doing that,” he says firmly. He walks further into the ship, widening their distance, but the pain doesn’t come back. “Tell me what you know about this,” Dameron says, all business.

They compare symptoms, time frames, treatments. They share hypotheses, but in the end, there’s not a lot they know about it.

“You were working the whole time?” Dameron asks. “How? I felt like I was dying. Was it different for you?”

“I have a high pain threshold,” Hux answers truthfully, but it only makes Dameron frown.

They agree on some things:

They can’t spend more than seven days apart without the pain becoming unbearable. This is unfeasible for Hux. He can’t take that much time off without raising suspicions. He also can’t sneak Dameron aboard without getting him killed. He could do it once, maybe twice. Dameron, however, rejects the idea of secretly, yet semi-temporarily, moving to Hux’s quarters.

“It would be only until we find a solution. Be reasonable.”

“Why don’t you come back with me, then? I’ll keep you handcuffed to my bed and hold your hand every seven days,” Dameron replies.

“I never suggested keeping you handcuffed to my bed.”

“Whatever surface you had in mind, then.”

They agree that it probably has something to do with the Sith artifact Ren was obsessed with, that Hux stole. Dameron seems to accept that it was an honest mistake and not part of Hux’s supposedly evil plans, though.

They can’t agree on what exactly it requires from them, though.

Touch seems to be the obvious answer, but it could just be proximity, Dameron suggests. Clearly unable to separate wishful thinking from realistic suggestions.

It doesn’t seem to have an inherently sexual element to it, but it is almost certainly responsible for what happened, their — encounter.

“If the answer is touch, then maybe the adverse effects can be delayed depending on how much we touch,” Hux suggests.

“That could be it. It’s worth a try,” says Dameron, but when Hux leans over him and places his hand on the inside of his thigh, he pushes him away. “What are you doing?”

“We just said—”

“Yeah, I meant holding hands. Kriff, keep it in your pants,” he snaps. He immediately looks like he regrets it and confirms it by saying, “sorry. I — I’m sorry I said that.”

After a long, awkward moment he reaches for Hux’s tightly clenched fist. “It’s not you, it’s me,” Dameron says, smiling sadly.

Hux is not used to being planet-side, but he supposes he can still appreciate the unique color palette of nature that surrounds them. The yellow grass they sit on almost glimmers from the brightness being filtered through the tall orange trees. The light catches on the ring dangling from Dameron’s neck. Hux doesn’t remember feeling it against his skin.

“Is the Resistance base here?” Hux asks while they sit outside, their thighs brushing. If it is, it’s not a bad location. It’s one the Order has never considered and it gives Hux an idea about where they might go next.

Dameron gives him an incredulous look and doesn’t respond.

“What do you think I’m going to do with that information? Moving against the Resistance now would be a win for Ren and I assume you’re not all so incompetent that you’ll stay in the same place after we take him down.”

“Speaking of this collective effort to take down Ren, you didn’t come empty-handed, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Show me what you got, then,” Dameron says, offering Hux his hand and helping him up.

The night before Hux is set to return to the Order, he brings it up again. He stares fixedly at the darkness above their bunk when he says, “I think we should have sex.” He doesn’t want to, but it might be what’s most effective. He can’t believe Dameron is refusing to even _try_. After all, it’s nothing they haven’t done before.

He sighs. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“How is it not a good idea? It could be what—”

Dameron turns to face him, making the bed they’re sharing feel significantly smaller. “I meant, after what happened last time, I don’t think it would be wise,” he says slowly, some indecipherable emotion in his voice.

“I don’t know what you mean. It was fine.”

Dameron scoffs. “You had bruises all over, from me holding you down. Your vest was torn. You were limping. I don’t— I don’t do that.”

Hux rolls his eyes, though Dameron probably can’t tell in the dark. “I see. It’s all tender lovemaking with you.”

“It’s all ‘making sure my partners want it’ with me.”

“I want to know if it works. Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No, Hux. It’s really not.”

“I can take it. I’ll know what to expect this time. It won’t be — that is, I won’t be — affected, like last time,” Hux says, all in a rush.

“Are you apologizing for the way you reacted? Because that’s not what I was looking for. I wasn’t trying to get you to make me feel better.”

“I don’t care about how you feel.”

“Good.”

“We don’t know when we might be able to meet again.” That’s the one thing they couldn’t agree on. They couldn’t find a solution that would work for them both. Dameron’s smart, it wasn’t just Hux doing all the thinking. Between the two of them, they couldn’t figure something out. “You’re of no use to your cause if you’re in too much pain to function.”

“Maybe you can teach me some that high tolerance to pain you got going for you,” Dameron says.

“Sorry. I’m afraid that’s something you have to start cultivating during childhood and then perfect it as you grow older.”

Dameron covers his face with both hands and Hux can tell he’s close to giving in. He takes a deep breath and tells Hux, “come here.”

They’re lying side by side, their arms brushing, their thighs brushing. There’s nowhere closer for Hux to go.

“Get on top of me,” Dameron clarifies.

It makes Hux’s face burn for some reason. He’s glad for the darkness that surrounds them.

He awkwardly maneuvers until he’s sitting on top of Dameron, overbalancing a little until he rests his hands against his chest. He leans back until his ass is resting firmly on top of Dameron’s dick. He’s not hard, which is both disappointing and reassuring.

Dameron stills his hand mid-air when Hux flinches away. Hux didn’t mean to do that so he grabs his hand and places it under his shirt, which he assumes was Dameron’s intended destination.

He soothingly moves his hand up and down before lowering it to play with the waistband of Hux’s pants. Hux starts moving his hips in a slow circle, hoping to get a reaction from Dameron. But when he does, he stops his movements with a hand tightly holding onto Hux’s hip.

He gets his hand inside Hux’s underwear and unhurriedly strokes him. Licks his palm and works him harder, tighter. Hux leans forward and hides his face in the crook of Dameron’s neck, pants against him. Hux grabs his shoulder and squeezes hard.

He remembers suddenly asking Dameron to bite him, to _mark him_ in that same spot. That’s what that bruise on his shoulder blade was. He couldn’t get a good look at it in the mirror and he didn’t try too hard. The memory leaves him gasping and desperately grinding against Dameron’s hand.

After he’s come, he says, “that’s not exactly what I suggested.”

“But it was nice, right?” There’s some appealing earnestness to the way he says it, but it’s gone in an instant and he adds, “I mean, it counts, so it doesn’t matter.”

“We could still—” Hux says, grinding down on him. Dameron’s hard now and it feels almost rewarding to feel him.

“I think we should sleep,” Dameron says and practically throws him off his lap.

Back on the _Steadfast_ Hux can admit he’s distracted. Ren’s gone, was apparently gone for all of Hux’s leave, which is a relief. No one knows when he’ll be back but that’s nothing new. For Ren, the Order is like a toy; he picks it up and puts it down depending on his mood. He often drops it when something shinier, or in his case, deadlier catches his attention.

Ren might not be around, but that doesn’t mean there’s a lack of threats.

“A week-long leave. I believe that is a first for you, isn’t it, General?” Pryde remarks. “I hope your time away from your duties to the Order was — productive.”

He flashes back to Dameron’s hands on his body and to the one detail he can’t put out of his mind, the feel of his blaster pressing against Hux’s thigh. He fears for a moment that Pryde _knows_. It doesn’t matter if he has no proof that Hux is giving them information, if all he can prove is that they’re fucking, it’s treason either way. But no, he’s just being paranoid. He knows he covered his tracks. “I’m just glad to be back to better serve the Order.”

“Of course. I hope you won’t be remiss in your duties, General.” His title sounding more like an insult each time he says it.

“I’m more committed to our cause than ever, Allegiant General.” It sounds true enough to Hux’s ears. It is, after all, what he’s doing all this for.

Twelve days. Hux lasts twelve days before the pain sinking into his bones starts to be a distraction. There’s an encrypted message waiting for him when he gets back to his quarters that night.

 _Consider this an interplanetary booty call,_ it reads. Charming as ever.

It’ll take him a couple of days to make arrangements and come up with a suitable excuse, but the truth is, that as much as it pains him to admit it, he’s been made mostly redundant. He won’t be missed.

“I think we lasted longer this time because we spent an entire week around each other, constantly touching,” Hux says, back aboard Dameron’s ship.

“I agree.” Poe’s going through the information Hux brought them and even though he’s absentmindedly rubbing his knee, his focus is not on Hux.

“Since we can’t spend an entire week touching this time, I think we need to make up for it some other way.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I’m open to suggestions,” Dameron says, still mostly ignoring Hux. After a moment he turns to look at Hux and says, “you’re about to suggest sex again.”

“I don’t hear you coming up with better suggestions.”

“A lack of suggestions is better than constantly suggesting sex,” Poe says standing up, purposely or accidentally withholding his touch.

Hux doesn’t like the way he pretends Hux is _constantly_ suggesting sex. As if he wants it. “A lack of suggestions is not going to help us avoid pain or death or a worse fate.” When Dameron doesn’t say anything, he continues, “do you remember it? What happened that day?”

“Yes.”

“All of it? Because I don’t. There are parts I can’t remember. So, do you?”

“I—” Poe clenches his jaw and looks away.

“You haven’t thought about it.”

“I try not to.”

“Do you remember how I begged you to do it? You pushed me away. You pushed me toward the door and I moved past you and braced myself against the table, told you I wanted it like that. It was my idea. Do you remember that?” Hux has been replaying that moment over and over. He is now certain it happened.

“I remember you told me to stop and I didn’t.”

Hux frowns. “I don’t remember that.”

“Looks like we both forgot some things, then.” Poe turns around and leaves.

Hux thinks about it for a long time. Did he tell Dameron to stop? Did he say no? He figures it’s possible, but he doesn’t think it should matter either way. He’s probably not persuasive enough to convince Dameron of that, though.

He has trouble remembering the precise order of events, but not the sensations. He keenly remembers how he felt about it. Dameron might be horrified by his own loss of control, but Hux almost enjoyed having the excuse to let go. If given the choice, he wouldn’t have chosen it. He’s mostly unsuccessful at silencing the voice in his head saying _it’s good you weren’t given the choice._

He remembers feeling vaguely terrified throughout, but he wasn’t scared of Dameron at any point.

He goes outside to find Dameron. There's an ocean crowding the beach where they are. Hux stares at it before approaching him. It seems vast and insurmountable, able to sweep even the strongest person away. “This is time that could be better spent touching. It’s not like time is in our favor. Stop sulking,” Hux says.

“I know.” He’s distractingly attractive, even when he’s brooding. The direct sunlight he is under highlights his profile in a way that causes Hux to stare for a heartbeat too long. “Come here. You want a hug, Hugs?” Dameron jokes weakly.

They sit next to each other in silence for a long time, their knees bumping together. “I’m sorry. I knew what was happening but I didn’t— it felt like something was distracting me from connecting my actions to—” Dameron swallows and looks away.

Hux, for a moment, considers the idea that Dameron might _cry_. The thought is so horrifying that he rushes to say, “it’s alright.” Then adds, “stew in your guilt in your own time. I have no use for it and it’s not relevant to— how I lived it.”

He’s not going to ask again, he decides.

When Hux leaves the following day, he’s almost disappointed to have to go back. He reasons it’s because he’s unsatisfied with the busywork, impatient to see Ren and Pryde and all their cronies fall. It makes the time in between, the waiting, feel miserable.

Ren comes back, but as he informs them, not for long. He has dispatched his knights to chase after some Sith nonsense and needs the Order’s resources to go on his own quest. As Supreme Leader, the resources are, of course, at his disposal. Hux just wishes he’d care about not squandering them, or at least he’d express some concern about how to replenish them.

“General Hux, is there something you would like to add?” he says, turning in his chair slowly, part of his usual and infuriatingly affected behavior.

Was he reading his mind? Hux can usually tell. Is he getting better at it? Hux swallows. “Not at all, Supreme Leader. I’m sure your mission will be rewarding.”

“And you will be there to witness it, General.”

“What,” he blurts out and winces. “I mean, as you wish, Supreme Leader.”

He can tell Ren is laughing at him from behind his mask.

_Will be in Pilvilia in two standard days. Can you make it?_ Then he adds, _with Ren. We’ll have to be careful not to get caught._

The symptoms are barely there, but he figures it’s as good an opportunity as any.

_Will be there. Way to make me feel like your piece on the side, though._

Hux hates him. Hates how happy he is to flirt obnoxiously, but completely unwilling to commit to the real thing.

This is what his peers at the Academy must’ve felt when they sneaked off and broke curfew for clandestine dalliances, Hux thinks, as he sits on the cheap motel bed across from Dameron. Hux was far too terrified of his father to ever try something like that. He was omnipresent — or at least that’s how it felt to Hux — less out of concern for Hux and more out of a desire not to be further embarrassed by him.

Sneaking off to commit treason and platonically touch your enemy seems more exciting, though. The stakes are certainly higher.

“What about his knights? Did he mention where he sent them to?” Dameron asks when Hux explains the mission as he understands it. Ren is not big on explaining himself.

“No, I don’t even know if he sent them all to the same place or to six different locations.”

“Do you know how long you’ll be here? Why he brought you in the first place?” He’s been rubbing slow circles on Hux’s thigh throughout their conversation. He doesn’t think Dameron’s doing it on purpose, but it’s driving Hux to distraction.

“I don’t know. To amuse himself, presumably. It’s why he took away my stature, everything I worked for. After everything I did to make myself indispensable—”

“Hey, know your audience. I’m not going to feel bad for you because you don’t have the power to terrorize the galaxy the way you wish you did,” Dameron says tersely. His words in clear contrast to the way he holds Hux’s hand in his, the way he softly touches his wrist, traces his veins. He wishes Poe was consistent or maybe he wishes to be less easily confused.

Hux leans forward, using their tangled hands to pull Dameron to him and close the rest of the distance. He kisses him, pulling his lower lip between his teeth, but Dameron doesn’t respond and pulls away from him. Hux lets out a mortified breath, but before he can put some distance between them, Poe pulls him back in.

“Not like that. Like this,” he says, slowing Hux’s movements down. He presses his thumb against Hux’s pulse as he guides his head. Letting their lips press and release, unhurried.

Hux presses him back against the bed and traces his lips over his jaw, down his neck, enjoying the taste of his skin against his lips. Poe pulls him back toward his mouth and keeps his fingers in Hux’s hair, purposely mussing it the way Hux’s never willingly let anyone do in the past.

Before long, he pushes Hux away. “I promised to get you home before curfew,” he jokes.

Hux allows himself, for a brief moment, the fantasy of having known touch like this when he was younger, when he was climbing through the ranks and looking for the wrong kind of stress relief, at any point when it wouldn’t have taken a mystical Sith artifact to get him here. The idea doesn’t sit well with him.

“Have you wondered what happens if one of us dies?” Dameron asks him on the way back.

Hux has, but he didn’t expect Dameron to be the one to bring it up first.

They can’t meet fifteen days later when the pain comes back. They have to endure it for _days_. He tries to say it in his head just to put into perspective how absurd the whole thing is. _It’s torturous to live without Poe Dameron’s touch._ It is, appropriately, painfully true.

"How are things back at home?" Dameron asks casually, almost distractedly. They're sitting on opposite sides of the bed, facing each other. The bed seems smaller this time, but that’s the only discernable difference from all the other rooms they’ve met in. What they do in them is far more significant. Dameron has his hand wrapped around his ankle and he'll periodically, no discerning pattern that Hux can predict, move it higher, under Hux's trouser leg. Hux keeps trying not to shiver.

Hux glares at him. “Is the information I give you not enough? Now you feel the need to resort to this unsubtle line of questioning?”

Dameron frowns at him. "That's not why I asked. I meant, how are things with you? Are you okay? Do you feel safe?"

Hux scoffs. He’s never felt safe. _And that’s a good thing_ , he reminds himself. It’s made him smarter, better, more vigilant. He doesn’t suppose Dameron would understand that. He probably thinks everyone should be coddled into a false sense of security. “Everything’s fine. As long as we stick to the plan,” he adds pointedly. “Why do you care anyway?”

Dameron shrugs, easily. “I worry. I feel like every time I watch you leave I’m sending you to your certain death.”

“It won’t be so certain if you actually do your part. And I don’t need nor want your concern. I can handle myself.”

“I know you do. Just — I don’t know. You can talk to me.”

It’s Hux’s turn to frown. Talking would not be his preferred activity to engage in with Dameron. “I already talk to you too much.”

They go for ten, then thirteen, nine, sixteen days — memorable not just for how long they lasted but because they spent the encounter leading up to it mostly kissing, almost chastely; Dameron keeping his hands firmly above the waist. The memory feeling like its own form of touch — until Hux feels as if he’s only living for the way they close the distance between them. A meeting that’s satisfying on more than a purely physical level.

When he enters the room, Ren’s Jedi is inside with Poe. Her lightsaber is casually placed on her belt. She’s not reaching for it, but it’s a threat nonetheless. Her presence turning yet another ordinary anonymous room (a bed, irregular lighting fixtures, a door leading to a refresher in the far wall, a table with a chair in front and, Hux frowns, the artifact placed carefully on top) into a suffocating dark void.

He tries not to feel betrayed, but it’s useless.

“Let me explain,” Poe says calmly and clearly. Obviously pacifying him, _in front of another person_. He could shoot them, but he has no chance against a Force user potentially more powerful than Ren. He could at least shoot Poe. He could. “Rey’s here because we figured out how to break the bond.”

“You were working on breaking the bond?” Hux feels stupid just saying it. Obviously they were working on breaking the bond. He should’ve thought of that. Why didn’t he even consider it?

“Well, yeah. I know that after we undo it you can kill me without consequences to yourself, but this wasn’t sustainable. You know that,” Poe says slowly, frowning at him.

“I could wait outside?” The Jedi — Rey — says, mostly a question.

“Yeah, gimme a minute.”

“No, let’s do it now,” Hux says. He wants this gone as much as Poe does. Why would he want to wait?

The ritual is disappointingly simple. Rey places the artifact in front of them and they touch it in the reverse order than they originally did. First Poe and then Hux.

Nothing feels immediately different. “That’s it?” Hux asks her.

“Yes, that’s it. I know it seems fairly simple, but it is the way of the Force.”

“How do we know if it worked?” Hux is unwilling to trust anything to do with the Force.

“Well, the effects — whatever they were —” she awkwardly rushes to say, “they will be gone and they won’t return. Poe?”

“Right. Rey is also here because she’s going to check. Using the Force.” Poe reaches out and touches his wrist, stopping him from moving away.

“It won’t be like what Ren does,” she says. Not reassuringly, just a statement of fact.

“We could just wait to see if the symptoms come back,” Hux says. “If they don’t, then we’ll know it worked.” He knows his suggestion is stupid, though. Why would they willing to choose uncertainty?

“Hux, it’ll be fine. Trust me,” Poe says earnestly.

He realizes that somewhere along the way he recategorized Dameron in his head. He hasn’t thought of him as the enemy once since they got bonded. Maybe it’s a secondary effect of the bond. Either way, he hopes it affects Dameron just as much.

“Alright.”

She closes her eyes and briefly touches him and Poe simultaneously. It’s nothing more than her fingertips, the touch seems mostly symbolic. “It worked,” she says, almost giddy, surprised.

She's young but has a steely determination to her that makes her too good to waste a second of her life dealing with Ren. To be fair, though, that probably applies to everyone who has ever had the misfortune of encountering him.

“That’s great,” says Poe.

“It is. Yes. Thank you.” Hux stumbles only a little on the words.

“No problem. I’m going to wait outside,” she says firmly this time.

Hux waits until her footsteps have faded to say, “I will set up another channel to deliver the information to you now that it’s no longer necessary for us to meet. It was too dangerous to do it like this, anyway.”

“Yeah, okay. If it’ll keep you safe then that sounds good.”

Hux realizes he was hoping Dameron would argue with him about it.

“I’d like to keep talking to you, though,” Poe says.

“Why?”

“Because I enjoy it. Then, after we take down the First Order, we can see each other again. Right?”

It sounds very romantic when Poe says it. Like they’re star-crossed lovers, but Hux can tell when he’s being tested. Poe wants to know if Hux will accept that their collective effort to take down Ren is and, more importantly, has _always_ been their collective effort to take down the First Order. Hux thinks he has known this all along.

“Yes, I would like that.” The current iteration of the Order has failed itself anyway. Hux won’t be sad to see it gone. He won’t make any promises not to build something better or different in its place, though.

Poe grins at him and holds his hand. “We can do this.”

His touch still fills Hux’s body with warmth.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Content notes:** sex under the influence of a magical Sith artifact, mentions/discussion of violent sex under the influence of a magical Sith artifact, mentions/discussion of withdrawn consent during sex under the influence of a magical Sith artifact.


End file.
